


i wanna kiss your silhouette

by wtfoctagon



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Eventually Requited Love, F/F, and its a gay disaster, ann 'overly affectionate female friend' takamaki, but thats still a baby slowburn, character study of ann via an examination of makoto through ann's pov, meets makoto 'affection starved loner' niijima, so like its looking more like a 20k slowburn now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-04-01 10:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13996551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfoctagon/pseuds/wtfoctagon
Summary: She didn’t think Makoto was the kind of girl to be into roses and flower language, sure, because she’s just so proper and ladylike all the time (except for as Queen— ironically enough). But the enthused way she explains is just so fitting. She gets this bright cadence to her voice that reminds Ann of lilies or sunflowers and is so different from her usual stern, commanding alto.“You’re actually really cute,” Ann says, watching the way Makoto turns the ring over in her hands.… which is evidently the absolute wrong thing to say, because Makoto looks like she’s just been shot.





	1. a silent peace in the tragedies

**Author's Note:**

> Set from the bank palace and onwards. I've only finished the game up to 8/3, so im sorry if i get anything wrong. fic and chapter title taken from "Palace" by Hayley Kiyoko.

Summers in Tokyo are so different than in those in Helsinki. Ann knows that sounds rhetorical and hardly bears saying because of the extreme difference in geographical location, but still: she can never get over her first day in Japan, getting off the plane and into an airport that was absolutely _sardined_ with people. She’d never seen so many humans in one place before— sometimes she’s even sure she saw more people those few hours than she’d ever seen in her life before that.

It was suffocating, which is, again, obvious, but still. Ann remembers being crushed into her mother’s side, and an impossible amount of people brushing and bumping and bashing into her with their elbows, their bags, their whatever—

She was miserable, back then. She begged to be sent home, to wide cobblestone streets along glittering waterfronts and some _space._ Of soft sea breezes and quiet people who smiled as she walked by, not stare.

Of course, she’s gotten used to it since and she hardly remembers what Finnish summers felt like anyway; but she’s never shaken the impression that Tokyo feels like an overcrowded room in the summer because in a lot of ways, it is just that.

A packed city, not enough room for people to stay out of each others’ body heat and warm breaths and car exhaust: people are somehow sluggish _and_  determined to move at the same time. Every sidewalk, stair, and escalator is wriggling with a reluctant swarm going about their day. Businessmen cooking in their suits, bumping into each other at the subway terminal and wondering how much longer until they can take them off— students complaining about the heat, wiping the sweat underneath their glasses that makes them slip off their noses, smearing their palms on their skirts or pants every five minutes when the sweat between their hands and phones gets too much—

Ann would be out there with them, normally. The sounds of the city seep between the tall apartments that surround the school and just barely tickle her though the open windows of the student council room. The desk fan chugs in a constant, nasally grumble, adding to the contradictory sense of stillness that Ann’s always felt in the school after hours. It’s a sense of restlessness, of trespassing, of shame as in isn’t it such a shame that she’s still here, after class, when both she and the afternoon are so young? Isn’t it boring in there? A waste of youth? Wouldn’t she like to leave the wet cotton heat sitting inside the building, go outside, enjoy the sun instead?

The coaxing feeling that she shouldn’t be here even though it’s miserable outside tastes kind of like her parents’ lacklustre scolding, or her teachers’ feigned interest: just an attempt at pushing her into places they wouldn’t tread. She feels the stream of sunlight scald her skin and thinks that summer heat is a lot like despair. They both coat everything in sluggishness like hot tar, soak up the air, pour into people’s lungs and stain hearts with a inclination towards anger and reluctance towards kindness. They both oil the hinges of everyone’s necks with sweat so that it’s just that much easier to look away, let things like “nothing I can do” or “not my problem” slide off their tongues with hardly any friction.

June heat has long since replaced April despair at Shuujin, and Ann finds it much harder to knock the sun out of the sky than a king off his throne. Not that she’d have the energy to, anyway. Not for something as trivial as disgusting humidity. Thought, it’s hard not to sigh for the millionth time and wish she were at her air-conditioned high rise.

Ann looks away from the window and at the reason she’s still drowning in the damp school air: the older girl sitting across from her, quietly filling out various forms and timetables. There’s a sheen on her forehead that Ann can see whenever she leans over and her brown hair falls away, brushing the end of her pen. The mild whispers of her ballpoint on paper and the monochrome diligence of her posture clashes adorably with the well-worn panda pencil case squatting by her wrist. She’s just contradictory like that: hardass student council president who’s terrified of the dark, prim honor student who tears the face off of shadows with nothing but her fists and a roar.

Niijima Makoto is one heck of an enigma. Ann kind of hates it, because enigmas are puzzles and she’s not _good_ at puzzles. Sure, they’re satisfying to solve, because who _doesn’t_ like feeling smart and accomplished? But the actual solving takes patience and brainpower and Ann has _never_ had a good supply of either. Couple that with an addiction to instant gratification, and you’ve got a girl who enjoys solving romantic, complicated mysteries in _theory_ , and never in practice.

Too bad that right now, there’s nothing Ann wants more than to figure Makoto out. Even if that means conducting a long private investigation, which she _hates_.

“Ann? Are you listening?”

“Huh? Oh— yeah!” Ann perks up and shuffles the papers in front of her with purposeful bravado, hoping to look busy with _work_ and not _staring_ at the girl sitting across from her. Said girl, of course, doesn’t buy it.

Makoto gets this wry little quirk just by the corner of her mouth like she wants to frown but she’s too used to toning down her facial expressions: she fidgets with her pen once, almost as if she went to twirl it and stopped short. Ann wonders why.

“You should go home if you’re having trouble focusing,” Makoto says plainly. “I can handle the rest of it on my own.”

“No!” Ann tries not to sound pissed off or whiny but, dammit, that _stings._ Being made to feel like she’s just in the way, too dumb to be good for anything but standing around looking pretty: she _hated_ Makoto for the longest time just because of that. “I just zoned out is all. I’m fine.”

Makoto sighs, looking entirely unconvinced. And a little annoyed, though, okay; Ann will reluctantly admit that part might be a cynical projection on her part.

“Really, Ann,” she begins quietly, and there’s a shift in her demeanor that’s almost _meek._ “I shouldn’t be asking you to do student council work. It’s _my_ job, and you must be busy.”

_Oh._ Ann watches the way Makoto’s shoulders hunch just a little bit, tucks her elbows closer to herself by just half an inch, keeps her eyes down on her papers, like she’s— well, like she’s trying to make herself smaller. Be less of an inconvenience. And maybe Ann’s just projecting again but she knows that feeling too well— countless times her parents took her to some work meeting or event or whatever and told her to sit quietly in the corner, not make noise, not be a bother, stay still so their colleagues could coo over her but otherwise treat her like some invisible object—

“You didn’t ask, I offered,” Ann says, metaphorical claws pulled back, sorting a document into the right pile. “With all the time you’ve been putting into the Phantom Thieves, you’ve been falling behind on student council stuff— it’s only fair that we help out. Even if I’m the only one with enough tact to offer.”

She says it with a grin at the boys’ expense, but the joke doesn’t land.

“It’s my responsibility to manage my activities accordingly,” Makoto says simply. “I shouldn’t be imposing on your time because of my own failings.”

Right, because it’s _such_ a failing that she’s not managing her schoolwork, student council duties, planning for mementos raids, _going_ on mementos raids, and _everything_ flawlessly, all on her own. Ann bites back the sarcastic comment because snarking at someone who’s hard on themself about being hard on themself rarely ever makes anything better.

“Honestly, don’t worry about it, I didn’t want to go to the shoot I had today anyway—”

“I’m making you miss a photoshoot?” Makoto’s eyes dart up to meet Ann’s with indignance because of _course_ that’s what’s she’s gonna get hung up on. “Ann—”

“It’s for a swimsuit ad that I didn’t feel like stripping down for, anyway,” Ann interjects quickly before she can get a scary Niijima Makoto Special Lecture On Work Ethics. “You’re doing me a favour, really.”

That stalls Makoto a fair bit— she squares her shoulders and stares Ann down, twirling her pen in one hand and Ann can almost _hear_ the brain gears whirring in her head. It’s a nice change of pace, to be honest, because she was kind of half-expecting Makoto to tell her that’s no excuse to skip work, that she needs to grow more of a backbone if she really wants to be a model— but Makoto just furrows her brows quietly, looking like she’s having an internal debate on something.

“Still, there are more productive and _relevant_ things you could be doing right now instead of wasting your time in the student council office,” she says finally, stern but not _actually_ disappointed.

“Come on, just let me help you?”

And she doesn’t _mean_ to pout, it just kind of happens because she’s still childish as hell and that’s her default way of trying to get what she wants.

“I—” Makoto coughs and looks back down at her work. “A-alright.”

Well. That was easy. _Way_ too easy, because if there’s one thing she’s figured out about Makoto for sure, it’s that she’s stubborn as a steel ox.

Then again, she’s also unfailingly reasonable and rational— and Ann can’t figure out how all of these traits fit into each other, where the reluctant front is, where the real, comfortable self is. Because she’d _like_ to think that Makoto is comfortable with them, even if it’s only been a short while.

She watches as Makoto goes back to looking over various club expense reports and auditorium booking requests. To be honest, Ann doesn’t know how she gets herself through all of it on a daily basis— it’s so incredibly, _unfathomably_ dull. Ann tries not to regret offering to help but, honestly, she’s not sure how many more of these she can get through without clawing her way out the windows.

There’s a sharp knock on the door and Ann fumbles her pen. Makoto stands to attention.

“Come in.”

A male student Ann only vaguely recognizes comes in with a sour expression that’s like… a grimace twisted into a half-assed snarl bent on finding someone to blame.

“Otsuka-san,” Makoto says, rising from her seat. “What do you need?”

Otsuka scowls and scratches the back of his neck.

“Niijima-senpai, the window in the music room is jammed shut again. We’re all cooking alive in there. Can you do something about it?”

The irritation in his voice— as if Makoto’s directly responsible— pisses Ann right off.

“I’ll contact the administration about it right away. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

“What?” he says. “What are we supposed to do about it now? We have to practice for the upcoming festival.”

So go find somewhere else, Ann almost says as Makoto turns back to the desk and pulls the timetable out of one of her folders.

“Let’s see… the literature club isn’t using their room today. You could use it to practice for now: I’ll be handling the issue as soon as possible.”

“That room has horrible acoustics,” he whines again, and Ann is just about to stand up and tell him to screw off, because like— would it kill him to ask nicely, when there’s hardly anything Makoto can do about it?

“It’s not ideal, but it’s the only avenue available as of the moment, barring places outside of the school. My apologies.”

Makoto’s calm, even, almost unaffected tone reminds Ann that she’s here to _help_ with student council duties, not mess it up by picking a fight, so she just kind of stews in her seat while Otsuka leaves and Makoto sits back down to write a quick note about it. The door closes, but it’s not solid enough to muffle Otsuka grumbling “useless” as he walks away and Makoto’s pen freezes mid-word. Ann looks at the half-suppressed cringe on her face and kind of feels like throwing something.

She’s being a hypocrite, though. It wasn’t that long ago that _she_ was the disgruntled student expecting way too much from someone who was essentially just another kid.

(Despair and heat. There’s only so much one person can do.)

“You’re amazing.”

Makoto’s head snaps up from her note and she blinks rapidly.

“I— what?”

“I just—” okay, maybe Ann should have thought out real sentences before just blurting it out— “I don’t know, that guy just walked in here all bent up and _expecting_ you to fix everything and it really pissed me off, but I guess—” she looks down, scraping a nail on a scratch in the desk. “I was kind of like that too, you know. Before.” She sighs. “And you just deal, with a straight face the entire time. I don’t know how you do it.”

Makoto laughs quietly, ducking her head. “I don’t know either,” she says, so softly that Ann’s not sure if she’s meant to hear it at all. “It’s exhausting.”

Then she goes back to working as if she hadn’t said anything and Ann— Ann just watches.

 

* * *

 

So, here’s the thing— Ann figures, based off everything she’s seen so far, that their metaverse selves are their true selves.

Because yeah, everyone acts a little differently. They’re all more confident, less inhibited: Skull lets himself care more than Ryuji, always throwing himself in front of attacks meant for the rest of them; Fox is elegant and perceptive and precise, unlike his usual second-guessing self; and whatever dramatic flair is hiding beneath that quiet transfer student mask _(hah)_ just comes out in full force as soon as Joker steps into the metaverse.

Ann herself, really, feels a huge difference. Yes, she kind of hates her costume— but Panther loves it. Panther knows she’s drop-dead gorgeous and takes full advantage of that, _flaunts_ it, even: because it feels _good,_ knowing that she can bring something to its knees without having to crack her whip even once, to _feel_ that she is devastatingly exquisite and one of a kind. For her beautiful appearance to really be hers and hers only, to wield when _she_ feels like it.

Panther is the girl that she _wants_ to be, secretly: flirty, confident, with an iron-self assurance of her own worth and value. Because to use her beauty for anything means _everyone_ assumes that’s all she is— that she's _resorting_ to using her appearance because she has nothing else of substance, and Panther knows she is so much more, that knowing and owning the fact that she's beautiful does not mean that she is not kind or intelligent or worthwhile. She’s a girl who lives her life unafraid of hearing things like _slut, asking for it, inviting that kind of attention_ — she’s the girl Ann’s sure she’d be if she were braver, more decisive, and more deliberate in all her actions instead of being the airhead that she usually is.

So, obviously, she kind of assumed this was the case for Makoto as well. Queen is— well, she’s absolutely terrifying. There’s a precise kind of brutality embedded in her movements, and when she’s clearing them a path on Johanna it’s like she’s never even heard of hesitation. She’s bold, concise, ferocious, _dominating_ — and Ann just took for granted that Makoto’s real self— the person she is inside and wants to be outside— was more like that. That Makoto truly excelled at being the honor student and student council president because she was able to channel Queen, just like how Ann feels most powerful and capable when she’s modelling and channeling Panther. It’s like she gets to be Panther in this reality instead of only in front of her friends, where she’s already comfortable.

Hearing that Makoto actually finds it exhausting is… kind of confusing,. And it’s not really that big of a deal, or really any of Ann’s business given how little time they’ve been friends for, but saving each others’ lives on a biweekly basis makes for rapid bonding, and… Ann’s just way invested in the first other girl to join the team.

That’s normal, right?

She’s musing over it while she’s on the train to Harajuku, where she’s meeting Makoto— they’ve made a bit of a habit of meeting up on Sundays for coffee or homework or whatever they’re feeling up to that week. This time around, Ann’s been craving a new pair of shoes and Makoto agreed to be her on-site second opinion. She feels a little pre-emptively self-conscious at the prospect of dragging the ever-serious older girl around on something as frivolous as shoe-shopping, but Makoto seemed happy enough to say yes, so…

She finds Makoto in front of an accessory shop, turning over a ring from one of the display stands outside. She can’t see the ring really well, but there’s a small smile on Makoto’s face that makes her put a little speed in her step.

“Hey,” she says, coming up next to her and adjusting her bag strap.

“Oh!” Makoto says, seeming softly surprised as she looks up at Ann. “Hello.”

Ann tilts her head and tries to peer at the ring. “What’cha looking at?”

“This?” Makoto shows it to her. “Just something that caught my eye. I have a bit of a penchant for roses, I guess.”

She holds between her fingers  a small silver band with a pastel orange rose set in the centre — made of plastic, probably, as it looks like a fairly cheap trinket.

“Orange roses mean enthusiasm and desire in the flower language,” Makoto continues. “They’re a way of telling someone you’re fascinated with them, in some interpretations.”

And Ann feels a bit odd, not in a bad way, just— she’s been in this scenario many times before, but with the roles switched so that she’s the one offering a bunch of trivia on a random interest that she has, completely unsolicited, and the other person just gets bored.

Not that Ann is bored. Like, at all— she didn’t think Makoto was the kind of girl to be into roses and flower language, sure, because she’s just so proper and ladylike all the time (except for as Queen— ironically enough). But the enthused way she explains is just so _fitting._ She gets this cadence to her voice that reminds Ann of lilies or sunflowers and is so different from her usual stern, commanding alto.

“You’re actually really cute,” Ann says, watching the way Makoto turns the ring over in her hands.

… which is evidently the absolute wrong thing to say, because Makoto looks like she’s just been _shot_ —

(it sounds like a hyperbole but Ann actually knows what that looks like because of an unfortunately vivid memory of one time Skull got charmed and Queen ended up taking a full shotgun shell to the chest. Thank _god_ for supernatural healing powers.)

“I— I just meant—” Ann cringes at the way Makoto just _gawks_ at her. “I didn’t mean that in a patronizing way, I just— you’re usually all business,” Ann explains while imitating a Serious Face for a moment, “I wasn’t expecting you’d be into stuff like roses or cute rings and— it was so gentle and I just thought it was unexpectedly adorable and…”

She eventually trails off as she notices that Makoto’s just getting progressively pinker and pinker with every word out of her mouth.

(and, you know, that makes her even cuter, but Ann’s just gonna shut up now.)

“Hey! There’s a cute new boutique a few blocks away, wanna check that out?” she says with the stilted overenthusiasm of a third-rate cartoon character. The few seconds it takes for Makoto to nod numbly and put the down the ring before hurrying down the street feels like a thousand years of torture.

Ann can’t tell if Makoto hates being called cute or if she’s just _abysmal_ at taking compliments.

 

* * *

 

The next time she gets all twisted up about how _confusing_ Makoto is, they’re studying together in Ann’s apartment for finals. The air conditioner is blissfully expensive and powerful, and Makoto’s put on some nice classical music playlist so Ann’s actually able to concentrate, for once. Her parents are overseas as usual, so they’ve got their notebooks sprawled over the dining table (well, Ann does. Makoto’s are in neat piles) when Ann gets a string of texts from Ryuji.

_im boooooorrreeedddd,_ he whines. _come out to the gym with me_

She huffs and puts down her pen to tap back an answer.

_im busy._

_what like at a shoot?_

_no, studying with Makoto._

_bullshit. u bought a whole cake that you want to eat alone didnt u_

“Ann?” Makoto asks from across the dining table. “Is something wrong?”

“Nah,” Ann mutters absently. “Ryuji’s just bothering me.” And besides, she was totally going to offer some of that cake to Makoto...

_not all of us are slackers like you!_ she snaps back.

_says the girl who can SPEAK english but still barely passes the test every time lmao if ur so busy with senpai then prove it!_

Okay, _rude._ It’s not her fault she doesn’t understand the specific grammar rules in writing for a language learned as a _toddler._

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” Makoto asks. “What is he saying?”

“Ugh. It’s nothing important, he just doesn’t believe I’m studying with you.”

Makoto frowns. _"Why?"_

“Because he’s a butthole.” Ann gets up and rounds the table to plop into the seat next to Makoto’s, nose scrunched with indignation.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Makoto says, fiddling with her pen.

“Proving him wrong.” Ann manages to get her camera app open before she leans over and wraps an arm around Makoto’s shoulders, smiling smugly as she snaps a selfie of the two of them.

_take that, stupid!_ she types as she sends the picture off.

The reply is almost immediate.

_omfgggggggggg lmaooooooo she looks like her soul just got ejected from her body what did u DO_

Ann frowns as she takes a second look at the photo and… yeah. Makoto’s eyes are wide, her mouth is screwed shut, her arms are tucked against her chest and overall she looks like a startled raisin being held hostage by an overenthusiastic dork.

She looks over at Makoto sitting next to her, extremely focused on her homework — save for the fact that her pen isn’t moving, like, at all.

“Does he believe you now?” she says, strained.

“Huh? Oh— yeah, uh, sorry for just—” she swallows, “jumping you there.”

“It’s alright,” Makoto coughs.

And yeah. Ann can be pretty clueless sometimes, but even she can tell Makoto’s lying.

So she spends the next while trying not to touch her as much as possible. Which is kind of hard because A) Ann is just so used to linking arms and holding hands with Shiho whenever and B) Makoto seems to seek Ann’s company as much as Ann wants her to, which is like… extra nice, but y’know. It’s hard for her to not just absentmindedly lean over or to give a friendly shoulder bump. Super embarrassing too, since Makoto is perceptive and always notices when Ann only just stops herself short of unnecessary physical affection. Makoto always gets this unhappy twist to the corner of her mouth.

In Ann’s defense, it’s an accident when she finally slips up.

It’s a Saturday night, just after a run through Futaba’s palace— the pyramid, the tomb that makes her feel like her chest is being filled with sand. She imagines it can’t compare to how Futaba herself feels. To go through that much pain— that much _suffering,_ to have a palace in the shape of a tomb, and still, still reach out: Ann wonders if she might have been able to save Shiho if she’d been half as strong as Futaba.

They secured a route to the treasure. Everyone was too tired to talk over the calling card, so they all agreed to part ways for the night and Ann’s pretty sure she can’t feel her toes by the time she gets on the train.

“Are you alright?”

_God,_ Makoto sounds so tired— there’s a rasp in her normally smooth, almost windchime-like voice. The soft tone she usually uses when she’s checking up on one of them is coarse, and Ann doesn’t know how she can muster enough energy to worry about someone else, much less _think._

Ann looks over at her. They’ve snagged a few seats by the back of the car that face forward in rows instead of along the side of the car, and in the reflection on the dark window Ann can see Makoto's usually immaculate headband a little out of place. She wants to reach out and fix it, because she doesn’t really have the words to express how much she appreciates that Makoto is even sentient enough to worry about her and physical affection is her only alternative but. Bad idea.

The car is quiet with the resigned fatigue of late-night commuters. It’s always been like that, the few times Ann’s had to catch a late ride home: there’s no chatter. It’s the kind of silence where no one wants to talk to each other, even friends, and the only sense of camaraderie present is when everyone collectively glares at the loud gaggle of drunk youths that get on every now and again. Ann blinks at Makoto, looking at her skin that looks as soft as vanilla gelato and her _killer_ jawline that still manages to have a delicate slope.

(Makoto is _so_ pretty. The fact that her eyes can go from smoking hot angry to just adorably bashful is just so… _something._ Ann doesn’t know how to describe it.)

She’s wondering why such a pretty girl is frowning at her until she realizes that Makoto’s still waiting for her to respond. It takes her another three seconds to remember just _what_ she’s supposed to be responding to.

“Yeah, I’m— I’m okay,” Ann croaks out. Makoto raises a brow. “...ish," Ann concedes. "I’ll be fine. How about you?”

“Exhausted, but nothing I can’t sleep off, I don’t think.”

She sounds so self-assured but Ann just kind of wants to call _bullshit_ — people don’t just sleep off getting sliced up by icicles.

Ann’s anxiety rears its claws again when she thinks about that moment. She was knocked off her feet, trying to find her whip somewhere on the ground, Carmen somewhere in her head— the only thing she heard was Queen screaming just in front of her before Joker yelled and it took a full five seconds for her to realize that Queen had taken a hit for her.

_“Fuck,” she cried, scrambling on all fours, scraping her knees on the sandstone floor to get to Queen. “No!”_

_She pulled Queen backwards into her lap. Blood, cuts everywhere, at least two icicles sticking out from Queen’s stomach— Panther knew she didn’t have enough energy left for a Diarama but she tried anyhow._

_“Stay with me, please,” she whimpered, hugging Queen to her chest, arms looped under hers and one hand cradling her face. “Please.”_

It takes a moment, but when Ann wakes up, she processes things roughly in the order of 1) she’s fallen asleep on someone’s shoulder. 2) that someone is leaning their cheek on top of her head. And finally, 3) that someone is Makoto.

(and, thank god, honestly, because if she’d processed it 1-3-2 instead, it would have resulted in her trying to jerk out of Makoto’s space immediately and probably headbutting her right in the face.)

Makoto doesn’t seem stiff, or uncomfortable, the way that someone would be if they were in unwanted proximity with someone else but too polite to say anything; even with Ann’s hand having fallen into her lap at some point. Rather, she’s running her fingers lightly in a line going from Ann’s thumb knuckle to the inside of her wrist, almost like she wants to push her fingers between Ann’s and hold her hand. Ann wonders if she does, but she feels like she shouldn’t because she doesn’t have Ann’s permission: because, that would just be _so like_ Makoto, to be overly polite to the point of chivalry like that.

Ann feels ridiculously charmed by the thought.

Makoto jerks her hand and head away at the first, smallest shift from Ann.

“Hello,” she says hesitantly. “We’re not at your stop yet. Did you sleep well?”

Ann nods, yawning. “I guess. Sorry I fell asleep on you.”

Makoto shakes her head, fidgeting with her hands in her lap.

“Don’t be. You’ve had a long day.”

Ann tries not to pout at the window reflection of Makoto refusing to look at her.

“You didn’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

… why does this girl have to be so complicated?

Ann leans forward, bracing her elbows on her knees and her jaw on her palms as she frowns.

“Hey,” she starts, “can I ask you a favour?”

That finally gets the girl to look at her.

“What do you need?” She asks in that kind of… elegant earnestness that reminds Ann of the time they found the bank palace, when Makoto was so obsessed with being _useful_ like her life depended on it and Ann felt all twisted up inside. “Is something wrong?”

Ann shakes her head, a bit slowly and loosely with her chin still planted in her hands. “Can you promise me that you’ll always tell me if I make you uncomfortable? Like, seriously?”

Makoto raises a brow, a corner of her lip curling.

“Yes, of course.”

“Promise?”

Makoto laughs at that, confused.

“Yes, I promise. Not that you’ve ever given me any reason to feel uncomfortable. Should I be concerned?”

She tilts her head just the slightest bit when she asks that and it’s… _so_ cute. Ann grins and loops her arm under Makoto’s, grabbing her hand and scooting closer so that they’re pressed together, side-by-side.

“Too much?” she asks the suddenly bewildered statue of a girl. Makoto just blinks at her.

“N-no.”

“You sure?” she prods again, tightening her hold on Makoto’s hand.

“I’m sure,” Makoto manages, looking away.

Ann squints. “Kaaaay. I’m gonna trust you, so you better not be lying,” she says before shifting so she can put her head on Makoto’s shoulder again and settling in.

“I’m not,” Makoto insists so quietly that Ann almost doesn’t hear her over the clack-clack of the subway tracks. She starts feeling a little doubtful, like, maybe she really is too polite to say anything at all, maybe this is a mistake, maybe she should stop being so stupid—

Then, she feels Makoto rest the side of her face on her head again, this time giving her hand a light squeeze and leaning in reciprocally. Ann can’t help the grin that pushes against her cheeks.

This is nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in this house we have nothing but unconditional love and support for sweet gremlin princess Futaba Sakura
> 
> lmao anyway thanks for reading pls lemme know if u have any critique wrt characterization; i usually wait until im done a game to write for it so i can get a good grip of the characters, but p5 is 100hrs long and im already starving for makoann content


	2. shattered dreams into rhapsodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they get closer as the Medjed crisis passes. Ann finds out more about Makoto and feels like she's finally putting the pieces together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! so, this ended up being a lot longer than I thought it would be. It was just gonna be a nice character study, but then I had to go and come up with a Real Plot and now it's looking like it's gonna be 20k instead. 
> 
> Also, sorry about the quality drop! the first chapter was proofread by my roommate who is trained at the university level in literature and creative writing; this time, they didn't have the time and i was antsy to post for the Validation. Hopefully it's not too huge of a tonal shift from the first chapter that it's jarring in any way. 
> 
> quick note on accuracy: 
> 
> 1) I haven't been to mementos yet after finishing Futaba's palace. dunno what kind of monsters are in the new levels.... sorry. I'm bad at action scenes anyway and I kind of wanted to get it over with lskdjfnvskf
> 
> 2) I changed Futaba's swimsuit on purpose. As someone who's been through a similar kind of sexual harrassment/abuse as Ann has, I can say for sure that she would never ever put a fifteen year old girl in a swimsuit that revealing unless she EXPLICITLY knew that the girl in question was 100% comfortable with it. Which, Futaba absolutely is not. that entire beach scene was pure bullshit fuckery by ATLUS and I've decided to have very selective memory on it. you can't change my mind, sorry!!!!

Futaba’s room is… too familiar for Ann’s comfort. She ignored it the first few times she stepped in, because it was covered in glow in the dark stickers and neon lights pulsing like the slow, cold blinks of staring strangers. It was easy enough mess to sweep to the back of her mind as the cursed cave of a teenaged hikikomori.

She sits on Futaba’s office chair now, swiveled around to the side of the bed. The entire place is stuffed with the smog of unshowered teenager: uncanny in that it presses on her lungs in the air-conditioned room with the heaviness that should only come with sticky summer heat.

It reminds Ann too much of her room in the first year of middle school, before she started modeling again. She remembers clothes strewn across the floor in purgatory, dusty and wrinkled but still good to wear after a good shake— candy wrappers gaping with their mouths crumpled back and tossed amongst the clothing like knockoff glitter— books and magazines forming haphazard slums on her desk— laptop and its wires and jewellry and hairbands tangled into her sheets on one half of the bed like a sleeping companion, always watching and whispering.

It’s different in here, obviously. Futaba isn’t into fashion magazines or owning way too much clothing or frilly things like that— but the feeling that’s she’s trapped in a pigsty of her own making, wrapped in a full-body straightjacket, is the same.

Ann thinks of the endless puzzles and obstacles and traps in Futaba’s tomb that kept them out as much as they kept her in and wonders if she herself had a palace too, back then. Her first year in Japan, when she hated her school and hated her new apartment and hated her parents and hated all those people who wouldn’t stop staring and whispering behind her back— she hated and hated and hated until she stopped eating or looking people in the eye. It didn’t stop until Shiho laughed at her painting and Ann thought she was just another girl set out to make her life miserable but—

“Is she still sleeping?”

Ann looks up as Makoto steps in, closing the door behind her so gently as if it might break. Well, Ann supposes she’s afraid _Futaba_ might break just from the air vibrations.

“Yeah,” Ann answers as Makoto searches the floor for viable places to step. “She woke up earlier just long enough for me to feed her some of the curry Boss left, but passed out right after.”

Makoto frowns at the sleeping girl as she continues her precarious journey around the bed.

“She’s… quite frail, isn’t she?” She murmurs as she finally finds her way to Ann’s chair.

“That’s an understatement.” Ann pokes at the plastic bag Makoto’s holding by her side. “What’s this?”

“This?” She raises the bag a bit. “Just some health supplements. I know it’s impossible to get her the full daily quota of nutrients in her current condition, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.”

Ann remembers that first crepe date, when Makoto asked the server for the nutritional value charts of each type of crepe and what did she mean they didn’t have that, it was legally mandated by the Japanese government—

“You’re such a health nut,” Ann giggles. “Can I see?”

Makoto gives her a stern frown even as she places the bag in her lap. “Maintaining a proper diet is no laughing matter.”

That just makes Ann giggle more as she digs through the bag.

“Hey! I know this brand,” she says, holding up one of the energy bars. “These are the bars made by doctors to be super crazy healthy.”

Makoto blinks. “Yes, they’re designed by licensed dieticians in France to be the most efficient supplement possible. Apparently, it’s even sustainable to use them as meal replacements for over a day, though, I’m fairly skeptical of that.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Ann says, pawing through the assortment to see all the different flavours. “My parents give them out to their models on overnight shoots. They’re pretty effective.”

“Yes, well,” Makoto mumbles as she slowly and carefully takes a seat on the edge of Futaba’s bed, facing Ann. “Hopefully they’re enough. She’ll be expending energy instead of recovering it if she’s not eating enough during her… _hibernation."_

Ann hums. “Too bad you only got the original flavoured ones. They taste awful,” she says sympathetically. “You’re never gonna get her to eat these.”

“What?” Makoto whines with dismay. “But the artificial flavouring undercuts the effectiveness,” she insists, before raising her hand to her chin thoughtfully and frowning. “Then again, slightly inefficient nutrition is much better than none at all. Dammit, should I have gotten the chocolate flavoured ones after all…?”

And this— Ann loves this. Seeing Makoto get all wrapped up in her thoughts, knowing that she’s comfortable enough around Ann that she doesn’t feel the need to stay professional. She sits there, mumbling to herself in all seriousness about energy bars, of all things, and Ann thinks that she’s actually quite a silly person. To get so logical about the tiniest difference in payoff between flavour and nutrition is so, so ridiculous; but it’s also charming, in a way, because it shows how much she cares about Futaba’s recovery.

Ann watches her continue to mutter to herself, lost in her internal debate, and wonders how she could have ever thought someone so adorable was a cold-hearted sycophant. To be fair, Makoto didn’t exactly show her caring side as the student council president, but still. It’s weird, after seeing her in action and knowing that she throws herself into things with so much _feeling_ that it’s actually worrying (see previous: using herself as _bait_ to expose a yakuza boss).

She keeps thinking about it, even as they finally leave Futaba’s house after Boss gets home. As they walk down the alley, she sees Makoto half-reach for her hand before hesitating; Ann clasps their hands together before Makoto has a chance to talk herself out of it.

And that’s been a nice thing to find out about Makoto too: she loves holding hands, or any other form of affection like leaning into each other or linking arms and things like that. Which suits Ann just fine; it’s so much easier to just insert herself into Makoto’s space and trust that she’ll be swatted off if Makoto isn’t feeling it. Makoto, herself, still tends to hesitate and it’s kind of exasperating, honestly. If Ann likes her enough to just swing her legs into her lap when they’re sitting on a couch together, then what reason does Makoto have to overthink things every time?

Though, Ann wonders if this is what Shiho felt like, when they were first getting to know each other. The first time Shiho held her hand, Ann just stared at her because people? Don’t? Hold hands? Unless they’re dating?? But Shiho just laughed in her face, said ‘fine, I’ll be your boyfriend then,’ and dragged her down the hall. She still remembers the way she felt her heart slammed so hard in her chest her lungs couldn’t move every time Shiho got too close for a while after that. How long did it take her to get used to it, again?

“What are you thinking about?”

“Huh?” she blinks at Makoto, and _man_ she has got to get better at not looking completely stupid every time they’re hanging out. “Oh! Nothing, I was just zoning out.”

Makoto frowns. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine!” she swings their hands a little bit. “Probably just hungry,” she says, scrunching her nose.

“Oh.” Makoto checks her watch. “It’s almost suppertime. We should hurry to the station; your parents must be worried.”

 _lol._ Ann doesn’t think her parents have worried about her even once since she was seven years old. “Nah, they’re not home. I’ll probably get some takeout on the way back. Oh!” she squeals, “maybe I’ll get some castela from the bakery by my apartment. All their stuff’s on sale at the end of the day.”

Maybe a little less fresh, but honestly, Ann isn’t hard to please— so what if a castela is a little dryer than usual? It’s still the a perfect golden treasure as is.

“Absolutely not.” Makoto’s stern reprimand would have been scary if she hadn’t squeezed Ann’s hand as she said it. “Your parents being absent is no excuse to skip a meal.”

“I’m not _skipping_ it,” Ann pouts. “I just said—”

“Sweet pastries don’t count as proper meals.” Makoto shoots her down before putting her free hand on her chin, frowning as she stops walking. “We should stop by a restaurant in Shibuya. I wonder if there’s anything healthy at the diner…?”

But sitting down at a restaurant to eat is so much _work,_ when she could just pick up five packets of cake for the night instead.

“Wait, but Makoto, uh— don’t you have to go home too?” _Brilliant._ “Your sister must be waiting for you!” she says with her biggest grin. “See? You don’t have time to be babysitting me.”

Ann was _hoping_ for a concession, and _expecting_ a deadpan stare, but what she gets instead is Makoto’s focused frown smoothing out for a split second of muted surprise before her features soften, her gaze goes to the pavement, and her chin falls just a little bit towards her chest. A barely-there breeze rustles her hair and her white dress, while the bluish late-sunset evening light cradles her, illuminating just how delicate the panes of her face are. She looks so _sad_ and regal, like some martyr priestess in a renaissance painting.

“My sister… is staying late at work tonight. She said not to bother waiting for her.” Makoto pulls her hand from Ann’s grasp, and it feels lowkey devastating. “My apologies. I hadn’t meant to make you feel as though you needed supervision.” She rubs her other arm lightly, shifting her weight.

And the formality _kills_ Ann. Because Makoto only pulls it out as the student council president or phantom thieves advisor, and Ann honestly kind of felt special when she started speaking more informally around all of them.

Dammit. Ann takes a deep breath and resolves to eat as many stupid vegetables and so called “real” food as Makoto wants her to, if it’ll make this girl stop being so _sad_.

She loops her arm through Makoto’s and locks them together, even putting her other hand on Makoto’s bicep. “No. You know what? We’re going to the diner. Or wherever else you want to go.”

Makoto looks up at her with alarm, but she doesn’t pull away. “Ann, you don’t have to—”

“I _want_ to. Besides, hanging out with you probably beats eating alone in my room. Come on,” she says, tugging Makoto down the street again. “Let’s go. It’ll be my treat.”

“O-oh,” Makoto says, acquiescing. “Alright.” She feels a little stiff, and Ann thinks maybe she doesn’t need to be hugging her arm so close anymore. She loosens her hold until her hand is just lightly resting just below Makoto’s elbow.

It’s silent except for the muted taps of Ann’s sneakers and soft clacks of Makoto’s heels on the pavement, and small conversations pattering out of open windows.

“Are you alone often?”

“Pretty much always,” Ann answers. “Except for Christmas and my birthday.”

“You live alone for most of the year?” Makoto sounds… upset, maybe on Ann’s behalf, and it feels kind of good in a childish way.

“I mean, a caretaker comes over every weekend to clean and re-stock the fridge, but yeah. They’re fashion designers, so they’re usually pretty busy jumping between New York and Paris most of the time.”

Makoto’s quiet for a couple of seconds and Ann tries not to think too hard about what she might be thinking of, feeling her stomach cave in on itself. She’s had a variety of reactions to telling people about her parents, all of them unpleasant enough that she mostly stopped telling people altogether and she doesn’t know what she’ll do if Makoto says something like—

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, moving her hand up to hold Ann’s again before letting it hang between them. “That must get lonely.”

Like Makoto wouldn’t believe. She used to have Shiho over basically as often as possible, but when Kamoshida took over the volleyball team…

“I guess, yeah,” Ann says, shrugging. “But it’s a lot better now that I’ve met you guys.”

She looks over to grin at Makoto and finds the graceful girl smiling back at her so prettily she feels her heart dance around her ribcage.

 

* * *

 

Going into Mementos to blow steam off and feel like they’re actually doing something while Futaba’s recovering seemed like a great idea until they got lost.

 _Lost._ In an alternate reality, full of monsters that might kill them, and possibly some Grim Reaper that _will_ kill them. While running out of supplies because they thought it was going to be a ‘quick jaunt’ to work off some anxiety.

Panther hasn’t started screaming _yet,_ but she’s real close. And the noise of Skull and Mona arguing in the front of the car _isn’t_ helping.

“I thought you knew how to navigate in here, man!”

“I told you I can _sense_ things! I can’t change the fact that I don’t sense a safe point anywhere nearby!”

“You _said_ we’d be fine to go a few more levels until the next one!”

“What I _said_ was—”

“Will you both, _please,_ shut _up?_ ” Panther’s command comes out much shriller than she wanted it to, but she doesn’t care. She’s _exhausted._ They should have stopped at the last station, but no, stupid Mona and Skull had to insist they make one more push, and for whatever godforsaken reason, Joker _agreed_ …

“Jeez, alright, no need to get catty on us…”

Panther is just about to pounce into the front and show him just how _catty_ she can really be, but Queen puts a hand on her thigh and gives it a squeeze. Panther just _freezes_ because holy _cow,_ this is the first time Queen’s been so openly affectionate with her, and cognitively she knows that Makoto and Queen are the same person but still—

“Panther?”

She blinks, realizing she’s been staring at the gloved hand on her thigh. Straightening up, she readjusts her hold on her whip with one hand and places her other atop Queen’s.

“Yeah, babe?”

Carmen is a good scapegoat for her sudden and questionable decisions. Panther can’t actually see if Queen’s raising a brow at her, but she’s pretty sure from the way that her left cheek lifts just the slightest bit.

(and if Panther thinks the left corner of her mouth lifts a bit too, then maybe that’s not just wishful thinking.)

“Did you hear what I said?”

Panther pouts.

“Soorryyy,” she whines apologetically, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hand. “Run it by me again?”

Queen’s definitely smirking now, though it might be in exasperation.

“We’ll try to avoid engaging in battles from here on to conserve supplies. It might take longer, but it’s the safer route until we find the next rest stop. Is that alright with you?”

“Sure, but only because you asked so nicely.”

She throws in a wink, and… well. Ann’s probably going to be extremely embarrassed about this. But Panther really appreciates the little comforting gesture Queen made and feels like rewarding her for it.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t get to hear what she hoped would be a cute response because the car— Mona— jerks with impact as something _smashes_ into the side closer to Makoto— there’s a mix of screams as it hits again and the van goes flying onto its side—

Squeezing her eyes shut probably isn’t the most useful reflex in these situations, but she doesn’t have time to think. She tries to brace her arms against her chest, only to have them come up against something solid— a hand presses against the back of her head— soft hair brushing her cheek, it’s Makoto— she manages to hold on just before the van lands on it’s side.

A crash— and Panther’s _definitely_ pulled something in both her shoulders holding onto Queen’s back during impact, but she opens her eyes and figures it can’t be worse than what might have happened if she hadn’t. It would be a hilarious sight, if she wasn’t in a deadly alternate reality: Fox is suspended above her and Queen, holding onto the ends of the front and back seats, legs splayed apart to keep his feet hooked on the bottoms of the seats as well. Panther glances to her side and sees Skull completely faceplanted into Joker’s chest.

The hand on the back of Panther’s head eases up. When she loosens her hold on Queen and lets herself fall back she feels an arm press against her shoulderblades and realizes that Queen braced the weight of _both of them_ with just her forearm against the side of the car.

“Holy crap,” she whispers, as Queen presses the hand she used to hold Panther against the window as well, propping herself up. “Are you okay?”

Queen nods, then winces as another crash rocks the car. Panther thinks for a second that Fox might slip and fall on them. “We need to evacuate. Mona, do you have emergency exits?”

“A few!” is the panicked response as the shadow roars outside.

“Pop all of them!” Joker orders, holding Skull up by his shoulders. “Everyone, out!”

Two hatches open overhead, one each for the front and back seats. Queen pushes against the window with both hands, giving Panther enough room to crawl out. “Go!”

She doesn’t need to be told twice.

“Hey, how come you never told us you had sunroofs?” Skull complains.

The shadow roars again.

_“Out!”_

Panther crouches by the hatch, reaching in to help Queen and then Fox out as well. Mona pops back into his normal form to reveal, looming over them, one of those _fucking_ coffin things they saw in Futaba’s palace.

“Shit,” Skull breathes. “Mona! We need a garu, stat!”

“Nnnngh,” Mona groans, pawing at the ground in an attempt to get up— Panther remembers for a second that he got hit on the outside _and_ inside. “Hold on a sec…”

Joker rolls towards him and _just_ snatches him out of the way before a Naga appears out of nowhere and nearly skewers him. “Dammit,” he hisses. “Queen?!”

She and Panther jump apart to dodge a Zionga.

“They’re both weak to wind. We need to distract them until you or Mona can hit them with a Garula!”

“Spread out and flank them!” Joker shouts, reaching for his mask to shift his persona.

“Panther, Fox, take the Naga— he’s faster than the coffin!” Queen growls, leaping away from another attack.

“Understood!”

Panther lets Fox take the first shot while she leaps over them both, landing behind the Naga and loading up an Agilao.

“Yoohoo!” she taunts when it’s ready. Fox jumps out of the way. “Catch!”

It’s a perfect headshot— Fox takes advantage of the shadow’s blinded scrabbling to finish it off with a slash, and Panther laughs as it disintegrates into nothing.

“Panther! Behind you!”

She doesn’t have time to process what or where to look before something slams into her back and knocks her down. She smacks her head on the floor and she’s so dazed she can’t even feel it hurting— every sound gets kind of garbled and then not there, and dots swarm in her vision.

Things go dark for a second; then suddenly there’s something soft against her cheek and she can smell Makoto’s shampoo for some reason. It’s plain; no flowery scents or anything, just the smell of cleanness that makes her think of freshly washed sheets and soft towels. Makoto’s so… utilitarian like that, and it should seem boring or weird for a teenage girl to be using the most standard brands available, but to Ann it’s just— it’s just charming, somehow.

She blinks her eyes open even though she doesn’t remember closing them at all and then it all starts being way too much: it’s too bright, there’s a high-pitched ringing in her ears, there’s some kind of soft rumbling like a cat’s purr, and she’s twisted and held at kind of a weird half-sitting angle, and holy _jesus fuck,_ her ankle hurts.

“You’re awake,” someone that sounds a lot like Makoto says. “Thank goodness.”

Panther squints and forces her eyes to get used to the light. The first thing she sees is the slope of a well-carved jaw, some soft brown hair, and the weird pulsing walls of the Mementos tunnels passing by slowly. She reaches out sideways with the arm that’s not squished between her and something else, and her hand comes against something smooth and hard. She blinks several more times and sees the dashboard of a motorcycle.

Not just any motorcycle: Johanna. Panther realizes the thing that she’s squished against is Queen, because she’s being cradled in her arms while sitting side-saddle in Queen’s lap.

How did _that_ happen?

She takes her free hand off the dashboard and braces it against Queen’s chest, trying to sit up a little.

“Careful,” Queen warns, slowing down to turn a corner. “This isn’t a very safe position to be riding in. I had few other options. My apologies.”

Panther’s ankle stings when she tries to shift, so she gives up on trying to get a better bearing of things. Leaning her head back onto Queen’s shoulder, she settles in more securely.

“What happened?” she whines.

“You took an awful hit and were knocked out. Do you remember?”

Only vaguely, which is surprising given that it feels like it only just happened a few seconds ago.

“Nnn. Not really.” She pouts. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Pushing onwards to the next safe spot, so that we’ll have something to show for our efforts today. We decided it was best if I split off to take you back to the last confirmed station, however.”

Panther whines. “My ankle hurts.”

Queen makes this unhappy noise that’s kind of like a grunt that fizzled out in her throat; it’s quiet and Panther only hears it because she has her face pressed into the crook of Queen’s neck.

“I was afraid of that. Your foot caught on a rail as you fell. You might have sprained it.”

It feels more like she might have broken it, but she knows her pain tolerance is basically nonexistent and it’s probably not even that bad. And, well, she can’t complain _too_ much when she’s on a motorcycle with the prettiest girl she’s ever met.

(and considering she works with models on a regular basis, that’s saying something.)

Panther looks up when she feels them slowing to a stop, tilting slightly to one side as Queen puts down her foot to balance. They’re at the platform at the end of the floor, with stairs that go up.

“Put your arms around my neck.”

“O-oh,” Panther says, doing just that. “Okay.”

Queen hooks an arm underneath Panther’s knees, cradling her close before she pushes off the bike and Panther thinks that Queen is a lot more confident than Makoto.

Which, she knows, is obvious enough, but still; the contrast between Makoto’s shy reaching for Ann’s hand and Queen’s direct (and frankly kind of hot) command for her to hold on so that she can be _bridal_ _carried_ is… a little startling.

Queen hoists her up to place her on the edge of the platform. Panther watches as she walks over a little to the side before nimbly pushing herself up as well, skin-tight costume showing off every strong line of her arm muscles and _holy hell,_ she’s _fit._

She only realizes Queen’s about to pick her up like a princess again when she comes around and kneels by her side.

“Ah— you don’t have to do that,” she says quickly, feeling a little feverish. Queen stops.

“Do what?”

“C-carry me like that. I’ll be fine.”

The flirty confidence she had before has evaporated, _conveniently._ Because she _loves_ sounding like an idiot.

Queen’s mask shifts as she frowns underneath it.

“Are you in any condition to walk?”

Well. Panther tries to get up by herself, but she doesn’t move her ankle even a centimeter before it flares up and she hisses harshly.

“I thought so.” She positions her arms under Panther again, and she’s just so… commanding and sure of herself. “Put your arms around me like before.”

Panther complies, though the quick lift as Queen rises to her feet still leaves her heart in her throat. She’s so _strong._ Holy crap.

“Is this alright?” she asks, sounding a little more concerned this time.

“Y-yeah!” Panther can feel her pulse in her eardrums and thinks maybe she hit her head a little harder than she thought. “I just— why the bridal carry?”

“I didn’t think the fireman carry would be particularly pleasant for you to wake up to, and piggyback would have required you to be conscious,” Queen says simply. “Though, now that you are, we could do that instead, if you prefer.”

And she says it pretty professionally, but there’s a kind of… unhappy inflection in the way she said “instead”, and she kind of sounds a little bit disappointed and Panther’s _thrilled._ Because, as flustered as it’s making her, Panther enjoys being pampered like this. Sure, she usually hates it when men offer because it just feels condescending and like they’re trying to make her feel like she should be grateful; but it’s Queen, it’s _Makoto,_ who waits for permission to do something as trivial as holding hands. And if Queen’s enjoying this as much as she is then that’s really _fantastic_ because when was the last time she got to be pampered without feeling like a nuisance?

She tightens her arms and nuzzles into Queen’s scarf, feeling contented and safe and cared about and _important._ She can’t remember the last time she felt like that.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Queen huffs, turning towards the stairs.

Panther hums happily. “I should get knocked out more often if I’m gonna get the full damsel treatment out of it.”

“Please don’t,” is the reply as they reach the base of the stairs and stop. “I’d really rather not have to do this again anytime soon.”

“Aww, why not?” Panther whines, because she feels like being a little difficult. She pouts up at Queen, but Queen’s looking to the next floor and at this angle she can’t quite see what face she’s making. She only sees the subtle shift in her skin and tendons as she clenches her jaw and swallows lightly.

“When you went down, I didn’t know if…” She stops, takes in a deep breath, and shakes her head. “It scared me.”

She looks down at Panther, eyes soft and auburn in the shadow of her mask. And Panther’s always thought that her mask is so fitting. It’s plain, with simple angles that hide all of the details underneath and becomes all the more mysterious for its plainness. It suits the way that Queen— Makoto— is beautiful like white daisies. Sure, there are other more extravagant or intricate or fragrant flowers, but Ann’s always loved daisies because they aren’t any of those things. They smell subtle and natural, but only up close; they’re sturdy and familiar, and there’s a profound grace to their simplicity.

Right now, there’s no mystery to the way Queen looks at Panther. It’s just them— Makoto and Ann— and a simple openness. A kind of relief that mingles with an odd sort of sadness, as if it’s the ghost of the mourning that might have been forced upon her; a feeling that Ann knows, has felt to often.

And she thinks, isn’t that strange? They go from worrying about things like what to wear or what to eat like it’s the end of the world to fearing for each others’ lives, and that can’t be good for them. There has to be some sort of cost, a catch that they won’t see coming, and they’re so helpless that all they can do is hold each other and hope for the best.

Ann lets go of Makoto’s shoulders to wrap her arms around her and cradle herself closer, pressing her face into the soft brown hair just behind her ear.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs. “I’m here. We’re okay.”

Makoto holds her tight, muffling a stuttering sigh against the crook of her neck.

 

* * *

 

Being out in the city during a day like this feels vaguely like willingly participating in a heated soup can of wriggling worms, but it’s for a good cause. Even with the air conditioner in the cafe, the residual heat from outside is still slathered all over her skin and when Ann finally gets her hands around the two cold drinks she ordered, it feels like salvation. She presses her drink to her cheek, sighing as she turns and starts making her way back to their table.

Futaba’s awakening has brought out an interesting side in Makoto. Ann was under the impression that Makoto was unfamiliar with physical affection, and didn’t know how to go about asking for or offering it at all. If she’s being honest, she felt a little special for being the first one to get Makoto a little more comfortable with it. Ever since that moment on the train, Makoto’s been— not _touchy,_ by any means, but more open. She’ll pat Ryuji on the shoulder if he gets a question right during one of their study sessions, or touch Akira’s arm to get his attention and ask him something, and every time Ann saw it happening it made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Ann first noticed it during the final fight in Futaba’s pyramid, when Queen was comforting Futaba as she tried to access her real memories. She didn’t think much of it; it was easy enough to chalk it up to Makoto’s natural confidence and protectiveness as Queen. But then, Futaba woke up and joined the team, and Ann started noticing little exchanges that she didn’t expect from Makoto at all. Makoto would just casually reach over to fix Futaba’s headphones if they were on the verge of falling off, or lightly put her hand on the small of her back to guide her through crowds. She acted… well, she acted more like Queen: focused, vigilant, and not shy or touch-starved at all. Not like when she takes ten seconds staring at Ann’s hand to decide if she’s allowed to hold it.

She’s so… complicated. Ann doesn’t know what to make of it. She’s not jealous that she’s not the only person Makoto’s comfortable with touching, or anything, because it like… it makes sense. Girls are just easier to get along with than boys. And Ann was just the only other girl on the team until now.

It makes sense. Sort of.

When she finally gets to their table, she sees Makoto writing in a… notebook? She looks focused and Ann smiles because of all the things to bring on a shopping trip, keeping a notebook on hand to write in is just so _Makoto._

“What are you writing notes on?”

Makoto drops her pen onto the book, scrambling to close it.

“Sorry!” Ann half-laughs as she places the drinks in her hands on the table and slides one towards Makoto. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Here’s your iced tea, my treat as promised.”

She takes a seat as she watches Makoto quickly rearrange her notebook so that her pen isn’t awkwardly sandwiched in the middle.

“Thank you.” she quickly pushes her notebook to the side. “You didn’t have to.”

Ann shrugs as she stirs her own frapp with her straw and takes a sip. “I wanted to. Besides, you’ve earned it!”

“Hardly. You did most of the shopping.” Makoto frowns. “Are you sure the swim trunks won’t be too boyish on her?”

“Pssh, please,” Ann waves her off. “The girl wears giant cargo pants. Besides, it’s long enough to make her feel less nervous about showing skin, but short enough to be tomboy cute, you know? And the top has nice straps that’ll look good under a tank top or by itself, so it gives her options. Trust me,” she says, leaning back with self-satisfaction. “She’ll look great.”

Makoto hums. “I hadn’t thought of it that thoroughly. You’re very talented at this.”

“Eh. You grow up with fashion designers, you learn a few things.” She takes another huge gulp, relishing the crunch of the pulverized chocolate chips and ice. “Too bad it’s useless. Knowing fashion doesn’t help you with school at all,” she munches. “My grades sure could use a boost, but alas.”

She sighs it dramatically to make Makoto laugh, but all she gets is a frown.

“Whether or not it’s applicable in academia doesn’t determine the intrinsic value of a skill,” she says, leaning forwards. “The fact that you’re well-versed with fashion as opposed to something like mathematics doesn’t make you any less intelligent.”

She says it so adamantly, like she’s arguing a point that _matters_ and not just disagreeing with a joke on the fact that, yeah, Ann’s kind of a dumbass. She’s okay with it— she was never the honors student anyway, and the Japanese curriculum is so far ahead from where she was in the US that she’s just glad she managed to catch up in middle school.

“I never thought miss honors student would call _me_ smart over something like fashion,” she teases, crossing her ankles and swinging them a little. “Flattery won’t get you _everywhere_ with me, you know.”

“I’m not trying to flatter you,” Makoto says, shoulders squared. “You have a natural talent. While I was struggling to pick out something suitable, you already had ideas about how to balance comfort and looks: not just in general, but specifically based on what you knew about Futaba. Not everyone has that kind of intuition.”

The… intensity of her argument knocks Ann off balance. They were just talking about swimsuits and now suddenly Makoto, of all people, is trying to convince her that something she never thought twice about is a talent and it’s…

(it’s nice. Feeling like something that she loves doing actually matters, that it means something.)

“Ah… I’m…” Makoto says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Ann realizes she’s been quiet one beat too long.

“No, you didn’t, it’s just… I don’t know what to say. You’re so…” Ann looks down, drumming her fingers on the table and bouncing her leg a little. “Passionate, in everything you do. You never half-ass anything. I can’t believe I used to think you were some cold-hearted sellout.”

She hears Makoto take in a deep breath, but doesn’t look up. Makoto clasps her hands around her drink.

“It’s… understandable, really,” she says softly, one finger tracing the condensation on her cup. “I tried so hard to be impartial and logical because I believed it was the most efficient way to solve things; but even with all my efforts, I can’t change the fact that I’m naive and stubborn.”

That’s not— that’s so far from what Ann said, and she doesn’t understand how Makoto can hear someone calling her passionate and then feel the need to criticize herself for being _naive._

She looks up to see Makoto looking down at the table as well, a small smile on her face.

“Things were… hard for my sister, after our father passed away,” she continues. “She had only just graduated from university, but she had to… basically finish raising me on her own. She was working so hard and I…” she slowly stirs her drink with her straw. “I wanted to be more like her, I suppose. I wanted to grow up as fast as I could and support myself so that I could stop being such a burden to her.” She laughs, once. “But try as I might, I’ll never be as remarkable as her. The only thing I succeeded in doing was to alienate my peers.”

Makoto takes a slow, lackluster sip of her iced tea and things start falling into place for Ann. The loose little puzzle pieces in her mind that were simply lying around slot into place with that satisfying give under a small press of the hand. The way Makoto keeps tabs on all their grades and health and goes out of her way to offer help— the way she obsesses over all her tiny failings as if the weight of the entire school is on her shoulders—

The way she reaches out to Futaba so easily, so protectively, even though the prospect of linking arms with Ann seems so hard and scary for her. The way she picks Panther up when she’s injured without a second thought but she’ll take ages to find the nerve to so much as lean into Ann when they’re sitting next to each other. She acts like an older sister to them all and It’s like… she’s spent too long trying to get good at giving and providing and being an Adult that she doesn’t know how to ask for anything anymore.

Ann thinks of the day they first met Futaba, when the power went out and Makoto held onto Akira with tears in her eyes. She thinks of that night on the train, when Makoto was tracing lines over her wrist; she thinks of all the times that Makoto reached out to her shyly, so _earnestly,_ and she thinks that maybe Makoto would like to be cared for as well but is too scared to say it out loud.

“I don’t know,” Ann says, reaching out to smooth down the slight wrinkle in Makoto’s collar. “I think you’re doing pretty great as you are.”

She pulls her hand back and gives the most comforting smile she’s capable of. Makoto looks at her with wide eyes and hunches her shoulders to herself like a startled kitten.

“I-I, uhm,” she says, tapping her finger on her drink and quickly looking down again, though her eyes can’t seem to settle on a subject. “You— you’re too kind.”

And Ann takes it all in— the slight tinge to her cheeks, the way she tries to bite down a smile, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear almost bashfully— and feels like she’s discovered a wonderful secret.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahaha What Do You Mean, Of Course My Favourite P5 Girls Are Makoto And Ann, The Two Halves Of My OTP! Who Else Could I Possibly Be Fixated On???
> 
> I hope that was alright enough sldkjfnvsdf this was actually 100% unplanned filler that I realized needed to happen before I could write the parts that I did want to move onto.


	3. this is where i keep you in my mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if you didn't think this was gay before, oh boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm! And the end chapter count goes up again! When will I ever have consistent plotting! who knows!!!
> 
> dlkfjvs sorry this took so long folks it was a while before i managed to finish my schoolwork!!  
> a housekeeping notes:
> 
> -thank you guys so much for all your comments... god you guys are too fucking nice it's illegal  
> -i went back and fixed up the horrid formatting mistakes i had in the previous chapters, as well as the fact that Makoto's... wearing a headband.... not a real braid..... and im a fucking dumbass  
> -i haven't had the time to play past the day before the hawaii trip so im really just running on the fanon ive been able to absorb and the seat of my pants at this point im so sorry if i write something in that would make absolutely no sense bc of something that i haven't seen yet in the game  
> -i don't know how to write a slowburn, apparently. enjoy the all-out gay, i guess  
> -this chapter is a little more about Ann and her workings than the relationship but i hope you still enjoy!!

Ann will reluctantly admit to the fact that she might be getting a little obsessed with how soft Makoto is. 

She can’t help it— ever since she figured out that Makoto reacts like  _ that _ to being complimented or looked after, she’s just gotten so… fixated on getting those reactions. They’re so… small, and shy, and they leave Ann smiling all day afterwards.

Just… god. Sometimes Makoto does something so cute that Ann can’t stop thinking about it for the next sixty hours minimum; the other day, they went shopping together and Ann noticed that Makoto was shivering a little in the overly air-conditioned mall. Makoto commented on it with a small laugh, absentmindedly wishing she’d had the forethought to bring a cardigan because she knows malls are  _ always _ too cool in the height of summer— 

Ann can’t forget the surprised flush that took over Makoto’s cheeks when she untied the flannel shirt from around her waist and wrapped it around her shoulders. Oh, no, Makoto protested, she wasn’t prompting Ann to lend her that shirt, she was just commenting, it was okay, really, and shouldn’t Ann have been putting it on? She didn’t even have  _ sleeves.  _

Ann just laughed and reminded her that she spent her childhood in  _ Finland. _ A cold mall was about as warm as most Helsinki’s summers. Makoto had insisted, again, because she’s just so stubborn like that— at least, until Ann pouted (which always seemed to work on Makoto for some reason). She relented quietly, tucking her chin and looking away slightly to try and hide a small smile. Ann is still fixated on the way she drew the shirt around her frame a little tighter. Something about the way she so…  _ tenderly _ wrapped herself closer in  _ Ann’s _ shirt is just so… it just left her feeling so giddy. 

They caught a movie after they were done. Using the excuse of trying to keep Makoto warm, she pulled the armrest between them up and out of the way to wrap her arm around Makoto who, of course, protested again. Oh, Ann didn’t have to do that, she was fine, this must be uncomfortable (and Ann felt that twinge of doubt as she always does, like maybe Makoto was trying to be polite and she should have just taken a hint) — but when Ann asked if she wanted her to back off, Makoto just… god.

The way she stammered and quietly said no? Impossibly cute. The way she nuzzled in a little closer about ten minutes into the previews? Amazing, precious, wonderful. The way Ann could feel her tense up and get pumped during the fight scenes, hopping just the tiniest bit in hear seat? The eighth, ninth, and tenth wonders of the world. 

And then, of course, there are the times Makoto doesn’t quite get embarrassed so much as straight up  _ gleeful. _ After the movie, Ann told Makoto that she loved the main heroine, with all her leather jackets and action-y fight scenes, and that it reminded her of Makoto. She could swear that the girl lit up like fireworks, almost preening, asking Ann if she really thought so— because that character was really cool, and and Makoto actually got the same model of bike as the actress had in a different movie— 

Again and again, Ann just can’t believe she ever thought Makoto was stony or cold. She’s passionate, so  _ fiery _ when she’s angry, so caring and gentle, so  _ animated _ when she’s excited, and just so—  _ soft _ when she’s happy. Sure, she gets embarrassed sometimes, and kind of small and shy, but there’s just something about the way she blushes, the way she smiles— in those moments Ann feels like Makoto just  _ embodies _ joy, even  _ radiates  _ it.

And Ann? She just loves seeing that. Because she knows that she really made Makoto that happy; she really convinced her, even if only for a moment, that she was cared about, that she deserved, was  _ worth _ caring about. It’s the reason why Ann’s so fixated,  _ addicted, _ even, to making Makoto feel like that as often as she can, because maybe if she says it enough, does it enough, Makoto will start to understand how wonderful she is without having to be told. Maybe she’ll start believing it, maybe she’ll start  _ feeling _ it all the time, and something in Ann  _ aches _ to see her like that: confident and happy and at home with herself. 

“Ann-chan, are you listening?”

“What?” Ann blinks. “Oh! Yeah, sorry!”

She cringes as EJ— her favourite photographer to work with— just sighs and balances the camera on her leg as she crouches in the grass. 

“A’ight, how about we just take five,” she calls out to the crew, hopping up to her feet with a groan. “Miki, toss me my water?”

Ann sighs and goes to bury her face in her hands, only just stopping short to avoid messing up her makeup. She doesn’t blame EJ for being frustrated with her— she hasn’t been able to concentrate all day. She doesn’t really know why. They’re at Inokashira Park, her favourite venue for shoots— on a day with  _ really _ good weather, even. The breeze is light and pleasant, the shade muffles the warmth from the clear, sunny sky just a perfect amount, and the sounds of the lake behind her have always been calming. She really likes the concept today, too— she’s dressed in a flowy off-white sundress, with a hat with a wide floppy brim and a ribbon to match. She looks like a wistful summer nymph and she’d be really feeling it if she wasn’t so busy thinking about Makoto.

In her defense, she had it under control. Sure, Makoto’s been the centre of her attention for a little while now but the whole thing wasn’t  _ that _ distracting. Not until yesterday. Because yesterday was…

They were having a phantom thieves meeting. Akira and Makoto were talking out the logistics of something or another— Ann wasn’t really paying attention— when she noticed Makoto’s headband slipping out of place a little bit. She went to fix it, on reflex— because that’s just something she’s gotten used to doing— when Makoto flinched and reached up to fix it herself, maybe even moving a little bit away from Ann.

It felt fucking awful, of course. Makoto had never just— flat out brushed her off like that, and she  _ knew _ she shouldn’t have been making such a big deal out of it, but… Ann unsuccessfully tried to act normal for the rest of the session, ignoring Ryuji’s concern and really just  _ moping _ about it until Makoto pulled her aside after the meeting ended. 

She was really sorry, she said, it wasn’t that she didn’t want Ann to do that anymore, it was just, well, maybe not in front of the others. She knew it was silly but it was kind of embarrassing for her and she was sorry and— Ann cut her off there with a laugh and a hug, because  _ god, _ if that didn’t make Ann feel special. Exclusive. 

And she knew she shouldn’t feel like that, she should want Makoto to feel comfortable with all her friends, to feel open and confident and she does, she really does but it’s… well, it’s a slow process, isn’t it? The fact that Ann is the first— the first step, the first person Makoto trusts enough with this side of her is just so… intoxicating, almost. 

_ “Okay, Anneli,” _ EJ says, coming to half-sit next to Ann on the fence. She hands over a bottle of Ann’s favourite soda— the fact that it’s still cold and dripping because EJ always keeps a few in her car’s icebox is just so  _ nice _ and makes her feel even worse for wasting time.  _ “Let’s talk.” _

EJ always switches to English when she wants Ann to be able to talk freely, without being afraid of anyone listening in. And yeah, it feels kind of… elitist, sometimes, but she’s just grateful to have the option of just saying what she feels without feeling scrutinized. And it’s not like EJ can speak Finnish; Ann doesn’t know a single word in Korean, either. 

Ann cracks the bottle open and takes a sip— the strawberry flavour bubbles softly in her mouth and she feels just a little bit lighter.

_ “Sorry,” _ she mutters. 

EJ takes a swig of her water and shakes her head.  _ “No need to apologize. You’ve just been a little distracted. I just wanted to ask you,” _ she says, looking over with a serious expression. _ “Annie, are you okay? Are you okay, Annie?” _

Ann tips her head back slightly and groans, rolling her eyes as EJ laughs.

_ “Oh my god. That’s not even funny.” _

_ “It’s hilarious, thank you very much,” _ EJ snorts, bumping Ann with her shoulder.  _ “Come on. What’s on your mind?” _

And it’s always been like that— EJ always knows how to get Ann to relax, loosen up, and really get into character. She’s laid-back and casual, friendly, outgoing— also tattooed and pierced to hell. She sticks out like a sore thumb and gets stared at wherever she goes, and she just like… doesn’t care.

She said once, when Ann asked about it, that she got sick of trying not to stand out— she was never going to hide the fact that she wasn’t Japanese anyway, what with her name and her accent, so why not have fun? And after that, Ann started caring less about standing out, too. She was going to be stared at no matter what she did, might as well be herself while she was at it.

She wonders what Makoto thinks of the way she dresses and feels her throat freeze up a little. She shouldn’t care. But she kind of really does.

_ “Hello? Earth to Ann. Anneli Vilhelmina Takamaki, are you there?” _

Ann groans, lightly slapping a cackling EJ on the shoulder. 

_ “Can you not remind me that I have a middle name? Please?” _

_ “No can do,”  _ EJ chortles.  _ “I’m legally obligated to make fun of a name like ‘Vilhelmina’. Sorry.” _

_ “Asshole.” _

_ “Hey, watch your language, kiddo.”  _ She laughs and shakes her head.  _ “So, you’ve really got nothing on your mind? Just having one of those days?” _

Ann doesn’t want to  _ lie,  _ per se, what what’s she gonna say? Sorry, EJ, I’m randomly obsessed with a friend of mine?  _ “It’s really nothing. Just… distracted, I guess.” _

EJ hums, and Ann can tell she doesn’t believe her.

_ “Well, I guess you’d be pretty busy with school and all,” _ she says anyway, just as nice as ever, despite her teasing.  _ “But I really gotta get these in by the end of the week, so stick with me for a little bit more okay? I’ll try to keep it short.” _

_ “Yeah, of course, I’m— I’m sorry I keep zoning out.” _

_ “Don’t sweat it. Everyone has one of those days. Here, cap that and I’ll stick it back in the box so you can finish it later.” _ EJ holds her hand out for Ann’s soda bottle.  _ “Let’s see if we can’t take advantage of your daydreaming, actually.” _

_ “How?” _ Ann asks as she hands it over. 

_ “Just trust me. Our concept today is ‘wistful maiden in love’, so try and... picture your ideal boyfriend,” _ she says as she pushes off the fence.

Ann just raises a brow.  _ “You’re kidding, right?” _

EJ rolls her eyes.  _ “Just do me a favour and play along? Worst case scenario, it doesn’t work and we both feel a little stupid. Come on.” _

She sighs— well, she does owe EJ, and she doesn’t want to drag this on for much longer.

_ “Fine. I just… picture it?” _

_ “Yup. And I want you to look down the path,” _ she says, pointing to where the park trail bends around a hill and out of view. _ “And imagine that he’s on his way here to pick you up for a date. That’s all you gotta do for me.” _

Ann nods as EJ gets back to her position, calling out in Japanese to the crew to get back to work. 

Ideal boyfriend. Down the path. Perfect date. 

She tries hard to picture— well, a tall guy, she guesses? In a nice shirt, or something. Holding flowers, probably. She really doesn’t have anyone in mind so the image is just really some… faceless guy with a bouquet of roses. 

Ann smiles to herself. Makoto would probably be a thousand times better at picking out flowers than any dude, honestly. She wonders what colour roses are Makoto’s favourite, and what they might mean— what kind of arrangement would Makoto put together, if she were going on a date? 

She can’t help but grin at the image that comes to mind— Makoto, sitting on her parked bike with one foot on the ground, protective leather jacket shed onto the seat behind her, hair all tousled up from her helmet, with a modest bouquet cradled so gently onto her lap. 

It’s just so  _ Makoto _ — tough and cool, but always responsible and safety-oriented, and yet with an unmistakable softness that all comes together on this idiosyncratic amalgam of someone who is just… so much easier to understand than Ann originally thought. Makoto is actually so, so expressive— Ann just had to learn how to listen. 

She’s never actually seen Makoto on the real-life bike she says she has. She wonders what it would be like, seeing her cool demeanor usually reserved for Queen coming out in a mundane setting like a park— wouldn’t it be great? She pictures herself walking down the park path and turning the bend to find Makoto waiting for her, parked just off the path. Makoto would ask if she had a good shoot, caring as ever— Ann could apologize for making her wait, and Makoto would shake her head and say that she didn’t mind. Or, Ann could say that she could have come over and waited for her with the crew while she finished up, and Makoto would say that she didn’t want to interrupt or distract her while she was working, and Ann would admit that having a pretty girl in a leather jacket waiting for her on set might have been really distracting—

“And that’s a wrap!” EJ calls out. “That was  _ perfect _ , Ann-chan. The best work I’ve seen from you so far!” she laughs, carefully capping her camera. “Who’s the lucky fella?”

She gives Ann a teasing wink and Ann just laughs awkwardly.

“N-no one in particular...”

The woman just shrugs with a smile before turning to put away her equipment. Ann takes in a deep breath.

Oh,  _ crap. _

 

* * *

Shiho laughs when Ann tells her.

_ “Sto-op,” _ Ann whines, slumping forward and burying her face in her hands. 

“Sorry,” Shiho giggles from across the cafe table, not quite done laughing. “But that’s just—  _ so _ funny—”

(It would be heartwarming, if Ann wasn’t so mortified. They’ve kept in touch, but since Shiho still had trouble walking for while, it’s been a long time since they were able to hang out like this— just two kids, in a cute cafe in Harajuku on a saturday afternoon, laughing about stupid teenager things.)

Ann whines again. “You’re supposed to be  _ supportive.” _

“I  _ am!”  _ Shiho insists, smiling apologetically when Ann emerges to glare at her. “Okay, but you have to admit, being told to imagine your perfect boyfriend and picturing a girl is funny enough— but to  _ only _ realize you like the girl because of that?” She cradles her coffee mug in her hands and shakes her head. “You are my best friend and I love you— but you are  _ so _ dense.”

Ann doesn’t have  _ anything _ to say in her defense. 

“It’s not like I  _ want _ to be an idiot, okay?” she protests, resting her chin on her palm sulkily and absently stirring her drink with her other hand.

“You’re  _ not _ an idiot,” Shiho says. “Just a little clueless sometimes. It’s endearing,” she insists, smiling at Ann’s skeptical pout. “I bet Niijima-senpai thinks so too.”

The jittery feeling that takes over her chest at the thought of Makoto finding her  _ endearing _ is so intense and Ann hates it. 

“Wow. You just turned  _ so _ red. You really like her, huh?”

If it were socially acceptable to suddenly scream in public spaces, Ann would be screeching in embarrassment right now. She plants her other elbow on the table and cradles her face in her hands again. 

“I don’t get it!” she complains. “I was fine before the shoot, and now I get so— flustered whenever I think about her. This is ridiculous.”

“It’s always like that,” Shiho says comfortingly. “Feelings are always ten times more intense after you admit to yourself that you have them.”

“I don’t like it,” Ann groans. She takes her hands off her face to fold them on the table around her mug before looking up at her best friend. 

Shiho… Shiho looks good. The dark circles under her eyes that chained her down the time  _ He _ was in charge are finally gone, and her skin has taken on its usual lovely cedar shade again instead of the ashy paleness that always left Ann feeling like death. The sunlight glints off the dark oak tints in her raven hair and warms her eyes to a molten amber, and when she smiles… when she smiles, it isn’t the sad, crumpled approximation of levity that Ann had gotten used to over the past six months. It’s a soft, lopsided smile that blooms into a full-dimpled grin, the way that Ann loves—

And she feels horrible, because she should cherish Shiho just as much when she isn’t happy. And she  _ does. _ It’s just that... there was a good while— starting from seeing Shiho on the rooftop to when she finally woke up at the hospital— when Ann didn’t know if she would ever get to see her bright, dorky grin ever again. 

“Hey,” Shiho says softly. “What’s wrong?”

Ann realizes she’s been tearing up a little bit and quickly blinks it away, shaking her head.

“Nothing, I just—” she takes in a deep breath. “Are you really… okay with this?”

Shiho tilts her head. “With what?”

“The fact that I’m…” she twirls a strand of her hair nervously. “That I like girls.”

Shiho gets this— not quite a grimace, but more like a tight-lipped smile that looks like she’s pressing down a laugh accompanied by furrowed brows and narrowed eyes like she might be cringing and Ann nervously tries to parse what it might mean.

“So, like…” Shiho starts. “Part of why I found it so funny that you only just realized you like girls is… because I didn’t realize you didn’t know.”

Ann blinks several times. 

“What?”

Shiho gives her this sympathetic half-smile, leaning forward on her elbows. 

“I thought you knew that you liked girls.”

Ann’s brain inches through that sentence, carefully piecing it together, puzzling it out until it finally smacks her in the face.

“Wh— how?!” She stares, wide-eyed. “Since when?”

The words she spits out aren’t particularly coherent questions, but thankfully Shiho seems to get the gist.

“Pretty much for as long as I’ve known you,” Shiho says like she’s trying to softly deliver some devastating news. “I think I realized you had a crush on me after about two months ish?”

“I didn’t—” Ann cuts herself off, trying to gather her words. 

She _ didn’t! _ Like, sure, there were a good six months when she was fixated on Shiho, wanting to see her all the time and thinking about how to make her happy, but that’s— she’s just like that, that’s how she is when she meets a new friend that she really likes, same with Makoto—

Makoto. 

Ann stares lifelessly at her coffee.

“I can’t believe this.”

Shiho just shakes uncontrollably with her hand clamped over her mouth and Ann wants to  _ die.  _

“How is this— how is this funny to you?” Ann says. “How are you not upset?”

Shiho coughs away the last of her laughter. “Upset about what?”

“About—” Ann gestures helplessly. “I mean, we still changed in front of each other and slept in the same bed and— shouldn’t you be creeped out, or something?”

Shiho smiles, and it’s less teasing and more genuinely affectionate. “Why would I be creeped out? You weren’t going to do anything.”

“You didn’t know that.”

“Yes, I did,” Shiho says with a grin and a shake of the head. “You’re literally the kindest person I’ve ever met, Ann. I knew you’d rather cut your own arm off than do something like that.” 

“But…” Ann looks down at her hands.

“No buts. Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she says as she reaches to hold Ann’s hands on the table. “I trusted you, and for good reason. Besides,” she adds with a smirk. “I could have suplexed you in half a second if you tried anything. Volleyball star, remember?”

Ann’s eyes go wide as she suddenly remembers something.

“Oh my god,” she says. “That’s why I liked watching you practice even though I hate sports. Oh my god.” Ann shrivels, hiding her face yet again as Shiho succumbs to laughter. “Oh my god. That’s so creepy.”

“It’s  _ not _ creepy,” Shiho says, almost exasperated. “Though, I’m actually kinda surprised. I didn’t think Niijima-senpai was your type.”

“My  _ what.” _

She giggles. “You tend to like athletic girls. Well, as far as I’ve seen, anyway.”

Ann is too tired to even be indignant about anything anymore. 

“How does that make Makoto not my type?” she asks, squinting listlessly. 

Shiho tilts her head and raises her brows. “I mean, she doesn’t seem very sporty…?”

Ann slowly takes a sip of her coffee. “I mean— I guess she’s not— sporty, exactly, but she’s…” she remembers that time Makoto carried her all the way through Mementos with her inexplicably strong arms and feels her mouth go dry. 

“She does aikido.”

“There we go,” Shiho says with a grin. “You’re so predictable.”

Ann groans, then pushes aside her coffee to lay her face on the table. 

“That’s it,” she mutters, slightly muffled with she cheek squished onto the surface. “I’m dead now.”

“There, there,” Shiho says mildly, patting Ann’s head. “Chin up. I’ll buy you another crepe.”

“No,” she grumbles childishly. “I can’t eat. I’m dead.” 

Shiho just laughs, and continues to pat her while she has her little tantrum. It’s nice. It’s familiar, it’s warm and it feels… a lot like coming home.

“Hey Ann?”

“Hm?”

“I missed you.”

Ann lifts her head at that, looking up to see her best friend smiling at her like she’s just… one of the most wonderful things to exist in this world; and right then, in that moment, Ann is so sure that Shiho knows— feels—  _ understands—  _ that Ann feels the same way about her. 

She reaches across to link their hands together, pushing her fingers between Shiho’s. 

“I missed you too.”

 

* * *

The problem of admitting one’s own feelings is confronting the object of said feelings. 

Ann realizes this the very next day, when Makoto comes over to study together, which Ann totally forgot about like an _ idiot—  _

It’s fine, she tells herself. It’s fine. She remembered early enough to shower and put Real Person Clothes on as well as clean up the dining table a little. Makoto’s here now, sitting across from her, focusing on her English homework so she can ask Ann something while she has the chance to. It’s silent save for the occasional flip of a page and the tap-tap-tap of the dripping faucet in the sink kitchen, and Ann’s trying not to bounce her leg while swiping glimpses at a Makoto haloed by the morning light. 

She’s dressed a little… differently than her usual fare today. Probably because it’s getting into that weird half-summer/half-autumn kind of weather that’s not cold enough for a jacket but not warm enough for short sleeves. Today, Makoto is wearing a button-up shirt that’s neatly tucked in under clean skinny jeans and a plain belt. Which is, completely normal, and nothing to be jittery about, despite the fact that the top two buttons are undone, the sleeves are rolled up just to below the elbow, and the shirt emphasizes Makoto’s supermodel shoulders in a way that makes Ann start twirling her hair nervously. 

It’s not fine. Makoto looks so good. Ann’s going to fucking die. 

Which isn’t  _ fair, _ because she was  _ fine _ before realizing. She could sit in the same room as Makoto and not freak out while obsessing over every little handsome detail of her appearance. Her jawline. Her focused look that is so attractive and dashing that Ann knows could melt into a soft and pretty smile at any moment. How  _ soft _ her hair looks. The prominent lines of her collarbones that Ann can see under the collar of her shirt. 

She doesn’t know why that’s such a big deal. She’s seen Makoto’s collarbones before. She usually wears some sort of button-up top with a loosely done collar. Her turtlenecks are tight enough to show off every regal line of her bone structure. 

But, here Ann is, losing her mind over glimpses of Makoto’s clavicle because she has two buttons undone on a shirt Ann’s never seen her wear before. 

Ann wonders if she’s even doing this whole… ‘liking girls’ thing right. Why collarbones? Isn’t she supposed to be excited about like… cleavage, or something?

She has a fleeting thought about how Makoto looked in a swimsuit and feels like she’s going to explode. 

“Ann? Are you okay?”

“Yes I’m fine!” Ann blurts out, tearing her gaze up to Makoto’s eye level immediately. Makoto just quirks a brow.

“You’ve just been staring at your textbook without writing anything for the past ten minutes. Are you having trouble focusing?”

“Oh, uh,” she taps her pen against her notebook nervously in time to the leaky faucet— tap-tap-tap-tap— “Maybe a little?”

More like maybe a huge fucking lot. 

Makoto frowns at that, then suddenly turns in her seat to… look at the apartment? Ann isn’t sure what she’s doing; she’s just looking over everything behind her like she’s surveying it, or something. 

“Would you mind if I closed the curtains?” Makoto asks. “The sunlight glinting off the other buildings is kind of bothering me.”

Ann doesn’t really get how that would be bothering her, since she’s sitting with her back to the main glass wall that leads to the veranda.

“Oh. Sure.” 

Makoto gets out of her seat and Ann is  _ not _ staring at how good she looks from the back with her sleek jeans and the crisp lines of her shirt. 

She needs to calm down. It’s just a shirt and jean outfit. It’s not like she’s in a catsuit or something. 

Oh no. Now she’s thinking about Makoto in her metaverse outfit. She doesn’t know what she’s going to do the next time they’re on a mission. 

Makoto draws the curtains, and Ann kind of sighs and blinks away the few spots in her eyes. She didn’t realize the glare was bothering her until it was gone and she’s kind of glad Makoto didn’t like it, either. 

Makoto walks back but doesn’t sit down, glancing at the kitchen that’s visible on the other side of the open space. “Actually, could I get a glass of water?”

“Yeah, hold on,” Ann says, pushing her chair out to get up.

“No, it’s alright, I’ll get it myself since I’m already standing up,” Makoto says as she walks over to the sink and plucks a glass from the drying rack. 

“The filtered water is the smaller one,” Ann calls out as she sees Makoto fiddle with the main knob. 

“Oh. Right. Thank you.”

“No problem…” Ann mumbles, more to herself as she wonders why she didn’t notice how…  _ handsome _ Makoto was until now. Not that she didn’t think Makoto was attractive— she thinks she’s  _ gorgeous, _ in fact, even though Makoto herself always argues any compliments based on her appearance and doesn’t seem to realize. But right now there’s just something so… domestic about seeing Makoto in the kitchen, back turned to her, in a simple shirt with the sleeves rolled up like some dashing husband in a TV show who’s just gotten off work and Ann could walk over and wrap her arms around her waist and kiss the side of her head and ask her how her day went—

Too far. Too far down the daydream spiral. Oh god. 

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Ann doesn’t realize she’s buried her face in her hands until she feels Makoto’s hand on her shoulder and jumps. 

“Yeah!” she squeaks, even as she looks over and slips ten degrees farther into  _ definitely-not-okay _ when she sees that Makoto’s crouching by her chair, just a few inches below eye level and looking up at Ann with concern and  _ gosh _ her eyes are pretty—

“Are you sure?” Makoto asks again, elegant brows furrowing, and  _ wow _ she is too close and Ann doesn’t trust herself not to just reach out and kiss the slope of her cheekbone just beneath the corner of her eye where there’s a faint freckle that Ann didn’t notice until just now—

“Yeah! I’m fine, just a little—” Ann flicks her pen rapidly. “Jittery, I guess, is all.”

Makoto presses her lips together like she does when she’s concentrating, and the way her eyes flicker as she studies Ann’s face kind of reminds Ann of a little red bird and it’s not  _ fair _ for one person to be this attractive.

“Alright,” Makoto acquiesces, even though Ann can tell she doesn’t really buy the excuse. “Just… let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Makoto suddenly seems a little shyer, her voice dropping into a soft tone and her eyes darting away from Ann’s every other second; Ann wonders why until Makoto reaches out with a slightly shaky hand and tucks a stray tuft of blonde hair behind her ear. 

Something warm and pink and glittery and glowing with the cadence of a hundred fairytale romances blooms in Ann’s chest and floods through her nerves. 

Makoto quickly pushes to her feet and flees while Ann struggles to bite down a grin that’s trying to take over her entire face because holy shit that was so sweet and affectionate and she doesn’t know how she’s going to handle Makoto getting braver and braver with physical affection from now on and—

Okay. God. Focus. Ann looks down at her textbook and tries to clear her head. She can get through one study session together without having her head explode into a bunch of kitschy shoujo manga sakura petals. She breathes deeply, in and out, and feels herself settle a little bit. Not entirely— she’s still nervous as hell sitting across from the most obnoxiously attractive person she’s ever met— but she’s not… jumping out of her skin, or anything anymore. There’s something calmer about the room, with the soft light and the comforting scratches of Makoto’s pencil against her notebook; it feels a lot like relief even though Ann can’t remember what it might have been that was setting her on edge before that. She can actually read the words on the pages now instead of feeling them sort of… motion blur into nothingness from how hard her brain felt like it was vibrating. 

Somehow, she manages to actually get somewhere with her math homework, even with Makoto’s shirt falling open to show her collarbones more every time she intermittently leaned over her work (Ann notices that she has a mole just in the hollow of her left clavicle. It really doesn’t help). She even finishes the whole unit and feels extremely proud of herself, excitedly checking the answers so she can show Makoto and be told that she did a good job. 

It figures that she’d have gotten most of the questions wrong. She sours immediately. 

“Do you need any help?”

Ann tries not to pout. “No, I’m just— trying to figure out where I went wrong,” she says, frowning at her scribbles and trying to untangle thought processes from minutes ago that she immediately forgot after finishing. 

“Let me see?” Makoto reaches out gingerly. Ann grouses and slides it over, feeling pretty stupid. It’s really embarrassing because Makoto’s so smart and Ann’s just like— not. She wonders if Makoto ever gets sick of the fact that Ann can’t quite keep up with her. Would Makoto enjoy hanging out with someone more on her wavelength? 

… Would Makoto like to date someone smarter?

“Here—” Makoto’s got a bunch of places in her notebook circled and gets out of her seat to pull out the chair next to Ann. “You just made a few little mistakes. I’ll walk you through them.”

“You don’t—” Ann stutters because she wasn’t expecting Makoto to come sit next to her. “You don’t have to! You’ve got your own stuff to do, and I’m just— I’m just dumb—”

“You’re not,” Makoto insists firmly, turning in her seat to look at her and she’s way too close again. “You actually have a great grasp of the material. You just tend to make simple mistakes that throw off the rest of your calculations— you don’t catch it because your mind is working faster than your writing can keep up with.”

“I—” well, that’s kind of true, the mistakes part, but she’s never really thought of herself as quick-witted— “it’s really just— I’m just careless, you know? I probably just don’t pay enough attention in class.”

Makoto shakes her head, and  _ god, _ the way she’s sitting, sideways in her chair to face Ann, one hand holding a pen over Ann’s notebook on the table and the other on the back of Ann’s chair, in her button up shirt with forearms bared so— fucking—  _ handsomely— _

“Having difficulty concentrating in class is a separate issue. Your mind tends to wander off when you don’t have enough to do, actually— I imagine it’d be exhausting for you to force yourself to pay attention when you’re stuck in a chair with nothing else to do for hours on end.” Makoto pauses, and her determined expression softens somewhat as she looks down at the table. “It… it makes me kind of sad when you’re so hard on yourself. You’re actually incredibly intelligent. You’re able to process information very quickly and I’ve always admired that about you. I know that people have made you feel unintelligent simply because you think on a different wavelength and I wish…” Makoto looks back at Ann, flicking her pen nervously. “I wish there was a way that I could make you see how talented you really are.”

Ann… doesn’t… know what to say. There’s just too much going on. From how good Makoto looks to the things she’s saying that no one’s ever told Ann before and when she thinks back on everything it sort of checks out and it feels so  _ good _ to hear someone believe that she’s not dumb, just different and that works fine too and—

“I’m sorry.” Makoto looks away again. “That’s probably a weird thing to say—”

“No, no, I just—” how is it that Makoto sends her scrambling for words so often? “I didn’t— I didn’t really… think anyone would pay that much attention to how I think?” 

“I— well.” Makoto refuses to look at her. “I’ve never… I’m not all that good at… being around people. I’ve never been this… close to someone before and I wanted to get it right so I guess I…” She gnaws on her lip once. “I’ve been trying to figure you out.” She grimaces and drops her pen, bringing her hand up across her face in embarrassment. “God, that sounds like I’m trying to study you and— that’s probably creepy, I’m so sorry—”

At that point Ann launches herself at Makoto, wrapping her arms around her shoulders, because her emotions have shot straight over her brain’s language capacity— it’s clumsy and awkward, with both of them twisted a little uncomfortably and their knees jamming into the edges of their chairs, but Ann buries her face in Makoto’s shirt and doesn’t let go.

She never really entertained the thought that Makoto might be trying to— that she might care enough about Ann to be trying to figure her out, that Ann’s important enough for her to try to get things  _ right, _ as if there’s anything she could ever do wrong— 

“Wh— Ann?” Makoto squeaks, alarmed. “What are you— why?”

Ann giggles at her stammering. “Sorry,” she says into Makoto’s shoulder, feeling her heart slam and throw a tantrum against her ribcage like it wants a turn to be close to Makoto too. “That just— made me really, really,  _ really _ happy.” And Ann knows that’s not a particularly eloquent way to put it but god, her entire body is just buzzing with something as saccharine as joy and she’s just— overcome with the need to show Makoto, somehow, hold her as tightly as possible and really press into her just how  _ much _ she’s feeling right now. 

She feels Makoto’s hands hesitantly coming up against her back, slowly smoothing across into the closest to a hug she can manage at this weird angle. 

“I’m glad,” she murmurs, and Ann feels her turn her head slightly towards her so that her lips are brushing against Ann’s hair. “I like it when you’re happy.”

And  _ jesus fucking christ _ that’s such a gentle confession whispered into her hair, it’s such a perfect thing to say— Ann suddenly feels like a movie heroine in a pivotal scene even though nothing about this is like a romantic movie. From the awkward position to the clumsily spoken lines, everything about this is so uncoordinated and anticlimactic; but here, in this mundane, unpoetic moment, Ann really feels like her heart is burning brighter than every star in the universe except for the one that she’s holding in her arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in another life, I was a devout ShihoAnn shipper. Happy Shiho Sunday!!!!!! 
> 
> Sorry about a bit of a consistency drop? I was trying hard to keep it all thematically coherent but ive copped out here and there. in particular im pretty sure the OC photographer doesn't add enough to the story to warrant having that much personality/getting that much spotlight, but i didn't have anything better to substitute the necessary pacing in there so. i'll get more into Ann's multiculturality later bc im a diaspora ho who'll never stop fixating on the foreigner characters. 
> 
> and going one entire chapter without mentioning Futaba even once???? who am I??????? huh???????????????? im a disgrace
> 
> thanks for reading-- i may not have the next chapter up for a while, unfortunately? I have to start applying for jobs as well as other writing to revamp my patreon and open up my commissions now that I've graduated university. and there's the fact that I haven't been able to decide which side the conflict in the next chapter comes from-- Ann pulling away is more thematically appropriate to what i've got planned, but avoiding your crush because you realize you can't deal with it is more of a Makoto thing to do, you know? I'll figure it out eventually.
> 
> also, i wonder if you guys are noticing what i've slowly been trying to show in ann's character. it was a lot more heavy-handed this chapter. i hope you like it!!!

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me @wtfoctagon on twitter or wtfoctagon.tumblr.com !!!!


End file.
